Wordless
by No. 24601
Summary: Grantiare is a pretty normal kid, for the most part. He has several good friends, and his family loves him. He does okay in school, the only catch? He was born mute. (GrantairexEnjolras Highschool Modern Les Mis AU)
1. I

Chapter I

Grantaire

'My name is Grantaire, I'm from Quebec, Canada.' red ink had written onto a whiteboard, which a small kid held in his shaking hands. The black haired fourth grader had never been in front of so many kids before in his home town. Growing up as a homeschooling kid meant only him and the two sisters who lived down the street. Other than that, he had been alone, and that was fine for his nine year old self.

"Why's he not talkin'?" the hand of a small girl with two long blonde braids shot up. She didn't direct her question to Grantaire, but to the teacher. This made him wipe his board and write quickly with his pen:

'I am mute, can't speak.'

"Liar!" she said, "I bet you can speak!"

'I can't speak! If I could, do you think I would pretend?!'

It had been eight years since Grantaire had moved to America, and he was now in the twelfth grade. He had managed to become part of a clique of seven boys, now eight, who were quite the thing. They were all single, and if they recognized some of their handsomeness, they just discarded that fact, for some did have looks.

Out of all the boys, he was the most laid back. He'd watch others run along, yelling and laughing at each other. Occasionally he would interject with answers to fights, sewing their pat- ches together, he did really fit in. With his red ink and white board, he could express anything. He knew that the group needed him too, so he never felt saddened by lack of love or anything of that sort really. Even at home he was loved, his parents supported him and through thick or thin, someone was by his side.

For the most part, at least.

It was second semester, things were going smoothly on the outside, but in his mind, he was on a rollercoaster. Since the beginning of that year he had begun to question himself, who he was, who he liked...

He brushed it off at first, silly thoughts. It was nothing more than stress getting to his head, but it was always there, looming in the back of his mind. Enjolras, that was the figure that he had tried to pull a veil over in his mind. He couldn't any longer, that would be lying to himself, and though he could lie to others, he couldn't in the comfort of his own mind.

When he had first seen the boy, it had been the first day of school. It was the kind of morning that didn't start off cool. It started hot and so humid it would make your hair look wet, disgusting, really. Everyone looked gross and miserable, but then there was that boy. That boy with blonde wavy hair that just passed his jaw line, the one with blue eyes that sparkled with determination, his frame fragile, but muscles nonetheless. He was gorgeous, and the day's heat never got to him. Grantaire was hooked.

Unfortunately for him, all of his friends hated Enjolras and crew, also known as his bodyguards. He wouldn't be able to get close to the boy without Jolly or someone stepping in front of Grantaire with a stern look, as if they would bite him. This happened once, and the worst part was that he had brought his notebook and already had written out a conversation he dreamed of having. And predictably, friends 'saved' him, he knew it was in good intentions though.

Only if he could have a talk with Enjolras, in maybe a dark blue ink, over lunch or out of school even. Maybe they would learn how their friends weren't all that different, and they could learn to get along, maybe, just maybe. But he knew it was all so stupid, Enjolras was probably straight, and would never fall for a child like Grantaire. This lead him to unseen spurts of depression in the most random of times. In these cases, he'd walk alone, or at least he thought he was alone (This was due to the boy's understanding that he really shouldn't be by himself, he could get horridly hurt with no way to get help, so they followed him from a distance.).

He ambled along the bright white side walk, which reflected the faint sunlight that filtered through an overcast spring sky. Kicking pebbles, he mused to himself, writing poetry in his head:

A spring's afternoon,

where I walk alone right now,

dreamt of not today.

He was going through a sort of poetry phase, and expressed himself through haikus or freestyle. Type did not matter, just thought. This poem in particular reflected his distaste in the rumor going through school that he was gay. He had already gotten notes in his locker of him being a 'fag', which made him very very pissed off. He thought, not only was it disdainful to use such horrid slag, but to use it against him? Well, he didn't know how to respond to that other than with a silent roar of hatred. Why did it matter if he was homosexual? Who came up with that silly idea?

The saddest part was something Grantaire did not realize, what was it? He was lying to himself.

Only one more turn until his street, he knew at this point his friends would turn to their streets and go away, and he would really be alone. Although he liked this feeling, it did scare him a bit, being by himself in the neighborhood. It's not like he wouldn't throw a punch if he had to, it just gave him an unsettling feeling, how terrible. It was also a fairly nice neighborhood that was very small, and mostly filled with the elderly and retired. It's not like they could kill him, they'd fall over and breaks a lot of bones, then he'd have to pay for their medical bills, and he did not really care for that.

He made his way to his house, number 7 on Rue Plumet Street. Why it was it in French was beyond him, they weren't even close to the French speaking provinces. But he didn't mind it much, as he lived in Quebec, so that was his first language.

He opened the door and walked in, throwing his bag on the ground and walked to his room, grabbing a canvas and his oil paint set. He grabbed a handful of brushes and a tray, along with a cup to fill with water. Grantaire went to the backyard and set up his supplies, realized he forgot his easel, retrieved it, then got water.

He sat down on the bench and looked at his colors. Four shades of red, two of yellow, three of orange... he basically had a lot, which came from his grandmother. She thought that art was the only thing that he really took interest in, only a bit right, though. It's not like he didn't appreciate that, he really did, just he had like three sets of paint.

That was that, he gave up thought and painted, painted flowers and people and stars and the moon. He swirled his colors of red, purple, blue, and yellow creating the figure of man in the foreground. It wasn't until he began painting his eyes, which had fire reflecting in them, that he realized what, who he was painting.

'Enjolras' he thought. It was true, though he was not with fair skin, his curly golden hair, and blue eyes, for the pallet wouldn't allow it, but anyone with vision could see that's who it was. He shook his head and stopped painting, he decided he wouldn't finish that one. He sighed, it was a shame that something that took him forty minutes would go to waste. So, instead of throwing it away, he'd just put it in his closet.

First period was math, always a peachy way to start off the day. He didn't appreciate numbers all that much, it wasn't his favorite way to start off a morning, but at least he didn't fail it. He was a smart boy, Grantaire, and this was undeniable, but took interest in the practices of humanity (as the reader will have assumed already).

His math teacher was quite annoying too, so that didn't help much. The man was a short stout and plump man, who looked upon people with ghastly eyes. His back was arched over, but not to the point he had become hunch backed. Mr. Kira was what students called him, even though that was definitely not what they were told at the beginning of the year. The only good thing about Mr. Kira was the fact he knew sign language, meaning less wasted paper and ink.

Graintaire trudged sleepily into class, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to stretch the sleep out of them. He took his seat in the front of the classroom. His bag slid off his right arm to the ground and he sat on the plastic blue desk. It was the kind of desk that was attached to the chair, so you were trapped. No scooting in or out, you were just there.

Students filled the classroom with bodies and noise. Eventually the bell rang and Mr. Kira began to lecture the late students, hopelessly. It's not like they listened, for this was that one group of children every school has, which just will not listen.

"Now if everyone could get out their homework, that would be great. Also! I am going to pass back your practice tests so you can rework the problem." Mr. Kira spoke loudly from the front of the classroom. Grantaire made a silent sigh, he had forgotten homework. He rose his hand, when called he signed:

'Forgot it, can I turn it in tomorrow?'

"No, you can't. That is literally the third time you have forgot in a row. Just do it today, it'll be late, but you do need it now."

That's how it went that morning, even second period was off for him, but we won't get into that mess. We will skip to lunch time, for I am the great almighty in this story and I can abridge as I please, where the boys are eating in their usual spot.

This nook in the school was very close to the middle school wings, and a popular girl's little brother would always sneak from study hall to eat with them. They really didn't mind him much, Gavroche (the seventh grader) was a pretty okay boy, and fit in well in their company.

His older sister's name was Eponine, the popular girl, and everyone knew she was madly in love with her boyfriend, the oh so gorgeous Marius Pontmercy! But, gasp! He didn't return her love, and the school was buzzing with the rumors that he was crushing on Mr. Valjean's (11th grade L.A. teacher) daughter, Cosette, who was too busy with her ballette to notice him. How love triangles could be so intricate was beyond them, but they really didn't pay it much mind unless it directly affected little Gavroche.

Which it really didn't. Other than the occasional "The whole friggin' house is in flames because she has probl'ms! Azelma's always cooing her and I am chopped liver. Like, I have an over load of homework and get stressed, all she's doin' is being a brat." and all this was was his whininess, which, surprisingly, didn't show all that much. He was a fairly well rounded boy who was stubborn, but knew he was doing well.

Grataire personally liked Gavroche, he admired his spark and loved the fact that he too, could speak sign language. In fact, Gavroche was teaching the others how to sign.

"So, I was talking to my history teacher, we all know she's hot right, so anyways she was probably advancing on me or something and I was like: hold it, I'm gay. And I swear to God almighty the look in her eyes was priceless, I think she thinks I'm a demon now or something." He looked at Bossuet who was smiling as he spoke. He always had such a cheery look and tone for a boy who was put through so much. He never really was the type to get angry, and was a mild man who laughed himself silly at least once a day.

"Hey, Grantaire, you fine?" Combeferre said softly. Grantaire nodded, that seemed enough for him.

Grataire stood up and started walking to the trashcan, which just so happened it to be at the very opposite side of the school. This was an inconvenience, even if the school was an indoor campus and very small. He passed clicks and idiots. He detested many of them, but some he was neutral on their personality. On the wall was a huge collective painting of lady leaning against a chair, her gold hair reaching her waist. He saw his panel, which was the left part of her face, painting her grey eye and cheek and the corner of her red lip-

"Excuse me." a harsh voice said, bumping into him.

'Sorry' he signed mechanically.

"Oh, are you the kid who can't speak?" The boy's voice was quieter now, Grantaire looked at him, it was Enjolras. Suddenly he froze, "I'm sorry I messed you up." Grantaire looked directly into Enjolras's eyes, unblinking, creeping the other out.

"Er..." and then he was off. Grantaire put his hand on his forehead in defeat. Just when he least expected him, there he was, with his stupid perfect face, and what did he do? Scare him off. That was sure nice going. He sighed as he walked back to his friends, the poor thing had no idea whatsoever to do with any of this thought. He wished he could scream, yell, anything to show his distaste in hiself. He didn't want a quiet scream anymore, in his art, he wanted a loud one that would hurt others, make them listen.

He had finally realized that.

He had finally realized that he was nothing more than a useless speck, or he thought, but even if it was not true, it hit him hard. He suddenly had the feeling that he was cadged, like a domestic dove, wanting to spread it wings and shit on his owner's head. Except, he had lost the ability to shit, therefore making him shitless. And a shitless bird could not show it's disdain for its shitty owner, therefore he had found his spirit animal, and the animal in him.

All this shit was hard to take, really, for all his life he had been treated like he was special, not like he was useless. And this sudden emotion, which was a mixture of hurt, anger, and frustration, awakened the fire in his bones. Now if he could only use the fire to make trees rather than pain, then he would be happy.

"You look mad, what happened?" he was greetd by Courfeyrac.

'Fuck everything' he signed to Gavroche, who told the crowd:

"He says 'fuck everything'."

"Oh, well, that sounds like a painful emotion." Jehan spoke without malice.

'It's all bullshit, I don't want to talk.' he huffed as Gavroche translated what he was saying. Grantaire sat on a chair that he had not seen before and pulled a drawing pad out of his backpack. He grabbed a pencil and scribbled furiously. It really was all bullshit, why, out of nowhere, did he get this sudden pain? Why was he cursed with a new perspective on his vocal chords?


	2. II-I

Chapter II

Enjolras

He sat in the front of the classroom, as it was where he was placed earlier that semester. He was in English, not that he cared much. He was a good student who kept his A's in check so he might one day get into Princeton. Teachers liked him, students liked him, he was living a comfortable life at school. His parents were supportive too, maybe not so much the rest of his family, but his parents were. They encouraged him to try his hardest and be a good person, even when things were tough. They left a great impression on little Enjolras when they failed to pay rent one year and were living with friends for the next six months.

He knew that they were a burden to the other family, and he felt useless to them. Luckily, they lived on a farm, and they could use an extra hand with collecting eggs (which to a suburban ten year old is hard work, dealing with feathers and mean old hens and such). In that period he was there, he seemed to grow a year every two months, and by the time they secured an apartment in town, he looked to be thirteen. This was his share of trouble.

In his present, he was about to get out his English text book. Enjolras fumbled through the black backpack looking for it. He couldn't find it. He crinkled his nose and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil, then went to the back shelf to see if there were any extras.

"Could I have everyone's attention?" the professor said from the front of the somewhat large classroom. Enjolras quickly grabbed a random book off the shelf and went back to his desk, "The comprehension test of the Twelfth Night has been pushed to next thursday." a wave of relief washed over the crowd.

Most students had been studying hard for this one, for Mr. Valjean did not explain some parts all too well to them, and the footnotes in their copy were not helpful either. So they had done their best studying Sparknotes for five hours, or were just going to crapshoot the test.

"Why?" a boy from the back of the room called out.

"Next time this class meets I will be at a wedding, and I am not having you guys use a sub to your advantage, not like last time." Mr. Valjean said, straightening his bow tie. Yeah, he was the kind of teacher that wore a bowtie, and not in the cool nerdy sense, but in the lame elderly man kind of way. "So, for now, I am going to have you all do silent reading or studying, hell, you can catch up on homework for next period if you need to, just be quiet."

Enjolras put the thick textbook gently on his desk and pulled out his book from his backpack. Ah, The Hobbit, he was not usually one for fantasy, but something about the charismatic charm of dwarves and their perfectly flawed leader, Thorin, made him love the series. So much so he had literally read The Lord of the Rings trilogy twice, and this was his third time at Bilbo's prequel.

Enjolras had this method of reading where his mind could block out all other noises and distractions, to where he was so into the book, that he could feel the rocky cliffs underneath his feet, and smell the forests. If anyone tried to bother him while he was reading, he simply would not notice them. In this way, he could finish books at insane speeds, and fully understand what was happening. He even managed to always figure out the underlying meaning and hidden morals of stories. To tell the story short, Enjolras loved books with a burning passion.

Thirty minutes had whirled by when Mr. Valjean called the class together saying, "Okay, we are going to write an essay on the flaws of the main character in your book. Switch with someone and comment on slash revise theirs." Quickly, he had produced a great three paragraph persuasive composition on why Bilbo Baggins was a greedy, selfish hobbit, and was still an amazing person to read about.

He looked around the room, people were making scratches on their paper, he was a little too fast for them. A head poked up above the crowd. They simultaneously locked eyes and nodded, the girl waltzed across the room and they switched papers. Her's said:

Eponine Thenardier

Hazel Grace

_ In the book, The Fault in Our Stars__, the main character, Hazel Grace, is a wonderfully perfect thoughtful girl. Her greatest flaw is over thinking.__It's evident that she wants to be blissfully unaware, but at the same time wants to be free of her sickness and of the pain that comes with it..._

Enjolras read through it, making annotations in dark red ink. Eponine seemed really passionate about this girl, and the girl's boyfriend-

'Oh... he...' he thought, sighing. Well, there goes another book spoiled for him. He had never intended to read it, but from how much she was gushing about it, he might have given it a chance, but now he knew the ending and he had little to no interest anymore.

Hey can I talk to you after class?

He read her words and looked up, she was luckily walking back to him at the time, so he could respond.

"Hey, Eponine."

"Hm?"

"Meet me by the windows on this floor." she nodded and they traded papers.

So they did, Enjolras went to the windows and waited. He didn't know what she was going to ask about, but he would wait for her. She was a kind enough girl, and he had reason to support her, so he would be patient.

He sat on the bench in silence, minutes were ticking by. He looked out the window to the sunny sky, he gently smiled.

She did not show that day, in fact, she had left the school for a doctor's appointment. He figured this out when he asked a passerby if they knew where she went. He did not assume rudeness, instead, a folly in remembrance. And that was fine, for he forgave her, she, as stated before, was nice enough. He instead stood up and went to his next class, art.

Through the sea of people he walked, alone in a crowd to his own devices...


	3. II-II

Chapter II Subchapter I

Thoughts

School was let out, and he was going to walk home. He met up with his friends, Kyle and Truman, to walk home. The three boys, together made a somewhat strange crew. They were all fine and came from rich families, and lots of girls swooned over them, except Truman, no one ever swooned over Truman. They would regularly walk home, going on their normal path to the local Starbucks (which simply everyone just had to hang out there). Truman would start his shift as a barista and then Kyle would leave with his brother, who got of his shift when Truman came. Enjolras would finish his trek home alone and he was fine with that. Sometimes he would be in time to greet others as they walked to their houses, but for the most part, he was alone.

As he walked from the strangely small coffee house, a cloud passes over the sun. It was a small one, that cast a long shadow across the mostly grassy road. They (as I have failed to describe) lived in a smaller town. It was suburban, yes, but it was an elongated mass of fields of wheat and wild grasses that looked like strings of gold whirling in the wind. Their town was situated in a large valley, and they were in the about center, bring great gusts often. They could, however, faintly see mountains lining where the sun came from.

He strolled in no real hurry down the sidewalk, following the edge of a cornfield. All he had to do that day was homework and practice the piano. Enjolras's parents did not care where he was as long as he was back before dinner, they trusted him.

This little town was the kind where everyone would wave at each other in a friendly manner, even if they did not know you, as they drove by. It was the type where maybe not everyone knew each other, but rumors and stories passed quickly. What was this town's name? We do not know, that has been lost in the telling of this story. Lost in my research of him through pages of memory and volumes of useless shit in my head. Forgive me, for the details will never be perfect, and if you were to meet Enjolras in real life, he would most definitely describe things differently, as goes perspective. It is the same with the telling of history, if you could ask

Jeanne d'Arc about her life, she would say things that the textbooks didn't mention, or wrote wrong. Stories are the same as that.

Why, you may ask, or maybe: but history and novels are different? No, they are not different, at least not by much. You, dear reader, seem to have not thought that if there are infinite universes, our stories are history, and our history are their stories. The losses and tragedies in our universe are not to be forgotten, for what is life if you cannot remember it? Maybe, just maybe, stories are the pasts of other selves budding into another reality to not be lost in the whirlpool of time and space. History and space and stories looks like a Celtic symbol, the intricate designs, rather than a line or circle.

He made it into his neighborhood, a particularly spacious place, each house having at least an acre of land as a backyard. Some people even had beehives or grew alfalfa. Enjolras's family lived at the top of a hill, so they got the first run of water in the irrigation, so they just had to plant things. They grew wheat, sold it to a local baker who ran a quaint shop in town. When harvesting time came around, they hired their next door neighbor, a thirteen year old girl looking for a way to get some extra money. It was a quiet place.

"Hey, Enjolras!" a SUV drove from behind him, rolling down it's window and slowing down, "Want a ride?"

He looked to the blue car, it was his sister, Emma. She was a Senior, but went to a different school, across town. "Yeah, sure."

"Hop in." he went to the passenger's seat and put his backpack on the floor in front of him. "How was your day?" her blue eyes sparkled with the charisma of youth that still lingered in her soul.

"Normal."

"Really, that's it?" she drove very fast, it was not like anyone could stop them, for there was no one there. He chuckled as she focused on the road with an intent stare.

"I guess. What about you?"

She slowed down to speak, so they wouldn't swerve into houses they passed, "James broke up with Marcy. Big storm about that, you know, drama." it was silent for a second, then they burst into stupid, unreasonable laughter. The two had a good friendship, unlike most siblings, which Enjolras greatly appreciated.

"PULL THE BRAKE!" Enjolras screamed as he saw a figure running across the road.

"SHIT!" The tires screeched as the halted, eyes wide in fear, hearing their hearts in their ears. There was a thump on the front of the car, "OhmyGodohmyGoddidwehitsomeoneEnjolrasohmyGodLordh elpus." he whispered to herself as Enjolras got out of the car, looking at the body on the ground.

"Oh my God, we are going to hell for this. EMMA!" He knelt down to passed out body of, who was that?

"ENJOLRAS!" Emma yelled, still in shock, "CHECK HIS PULSE!" he did.

"There's a pulse."

"THERE IS A GOD!" she sat on the ground, looking at the sky, scared as shit. "Oh my God, Enjolras, okay, what do we do? Um, check if he has a wallet, we can see if we can call someone oh I forgot we should tell Mom. Or Dad, ugh Dad would-"

"EMMA SHUT UP, WE DIDN'T KILL HIM, I WILL CALL MOM, OKAY?" He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and dialed his mother's number.

One ring. No answer.

Second ring. No answer.

Third one. He began to panic.

Fourth one... "Hello? Hey, I am gonna be at work late."

"MOM WE RAN OVER SOMEONE."

"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?"

Emma ran over and snatched the phone from Enjolras, "We didn't see him! We were just moseying along and he, well we didn't see him."

"Does he have a pulse?!"

"Yeah, yes, we checked."

"Does he have a phone on him?"

"No."

"Have you called an ambulance yet!?"

"Oh."

"I'm coming-"

She hung up and dialed 911, "Hello, yes, er, we ran over someone..." The two sat, petrified, next to the unidentified man who probably had internal bleeding or some other horrible thing. They might be charged for attempted murder by his family, what if he did not have a family and they ended his line? Emma wrapped her arms around her legs and stared into the horizon. Enjolras's left eye twitched in anticipation.

Lucky for them, the ambulance arrived quickly. The man was loaded into the car and they were told to go home after they gave their phone numbers and names.

Emma let Enjolras drive the rest of the way home, he did not go over 50 mph.

When they made it home, they saw their mother's and father's cars in the driveway of the large house. The siblings looked at each other and sighed, shit was going to go down inside that living room. They made the slow walk that most people could relate by thinking of a toddler who knew they were in trouble. Heads down, arms to their legs, restricted movement was key.

"EMMA TERESA BELLAMY, ENJOLRAS MATTHEW BELLAMY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" a voice bellowed as they walked in, they both dropped their blonde heads simultaneously.

"Now, Jack..."

"Mary! They almost killed a man!"

"Um, we just caused internal bleeding." Emma corrected, Enjolras stepped on her foot.

"They are going to try to charge you with something! You, both of you, are walking to school for the rest of the year. No more using that car." Their father said quietly, squinting his blue eyes in anger, as he did normally.

Their mother sighed and sat on the couch, taking off her red high high heels and throwing them across the room, knocking over some books on the shelf, "I am going to need some wine."

"I am just," he put his palm to his face, "so disappointed, you can't look at the road for your own sake?"

"Dad, it was an accident, we'll call the hospital and see if we can say sorry to him when he wakes up."

"Okay, that's a good idea."

The two went upstairs and into Emma's blue walled room. Enjolras leaned against the wall as she dialed the hospital number on the business card they had been given. They were told they had found the man, and his family was there. He was fine, no fatal wounds, and he would most likely wake up in the morning. The lady answering the phone asked for them if they could visit, and it was a yes from his wife, Mrs. Roche.


	4. III

Chapter III  
Collision

The next morning, the guilty feeling siblings made muffins in their kitchen. Chocolate chip, if they liked chocolate. Blueberry, if they could not eat sweets. They had banana, because banana was a good flavour. They put them in a basket lined with butcher's paper and seran wrapped it, to stay good. Emma sighed at the clicheness of it, but what could they really do?

"Do you think they'll forgive us? I don't know." she mumbled as they were in their car (which the reader may note that their mother was driving).

"I hope." Enjolras looked out the window on to the the gold sea reflecting Saturday morning light.

"Honey, I'm sure they'll forgive you." Their mom said, eyes fixated on the road in front of her. Everyone was a bit unnerved at being in a car again, but they had to say sorry, or something at least.

"I wouldn't" the father grumbled in the passenger's seat.

"Oh shut up. I'm sure the Roche's are sensible people who know it was an accident." she swatted his knee with the back of her hand.

The rest of the ride was in an uncomfortable silence. Emma played with her fingers nervously, Enjolras just sat straight, eyes ahead, not saying a word. Jack cracked his knuckles, no one told him to stop. Mary had been gripping the steering wheel much too tight, her knuckles were white.

They did, however make it to the hospital alive. Into the large building they went, to the front desk, then with a nurse to the room Mr. Roche was located. The thin framed male nurse smiled at them and nodded before scurrying off.

"You two should go in by yourselves, you are the ones who almost killed the man." Jack suggested. Emma's eyes widened and she shook her head for a 'hell no'. The two kids were pushed in, the door shut behind them.

"Er," Enjolras knocked on the door awkwardly, for they were already in the room, "Hello."

A kind middle aged lady with soft brown eyes looked up from her book to see the two, "Oh, hi! Are you the Bellamy's?"

"Yeah, uh." Emma shifted uncomfortably, "I'm Emma, and this is my younger brother, Enjolras. We kind of, ran over him." she looked over to the man sleeping on the bed.

"Oh, yes. It was nice of you to come, most would have just left in a fit of guilt. You two seem like good kids."

"Muffins." Emma said suddenly, realizing she was holding the basket, "An offer of our condolences?"

"Muffins? You're too sweet, here, sit down." She stood up and pulled the two extra seats at the table she was sitting at out. Emma set the muffins on the table and sat down. Enjolras followed in a stiff manner.

"We came to say that we are incredibly sorry about yesterday." Enjolras said gently, when he was in his place, "Our deepest most sincere apologies about your husband." Mrs. Roche smiled deeply as the door opened.

"Mom?" a young girl said, holding a older boy's hand, "Wait, who are you?" she pointed with her free hand at the Bellamy's. Enjolras turned around to see the no more than nine year old and...

Sign language kid?

It seemed that Sign Language Kid had noticed him too, for his eyes looked shocked, then anxious. He signed something to his mother and she nodded, he ran out of the room.

"Diane, this is Emma and Enjolras. They got into an accident with Papa when he was a bit sick."

"Are those muffins?" Obviously the girl had her priorities straight, muffins first, then family. Enjolras chuckled as the little girl walked over and peeled the wrap off, grabbing a muffin and yelling, "I'm going to where Grantaire is!" and ran out of the room.

"She's something, isn't she?" Mrs. Roche said happily.

"So, uh, you said something about Mr. Roche being sick at the time?" Emma inquired.

"That's what I told her, but he was drunk." her happy expression turned melancholy, "He has a problem. I hope it doesn't affect them." a wet blanket was thrown over the three after the last statements.

"Emma, I'm gonna be back really quick." she nodded and he slipped out of the room to see his parents on their phones, texting or whatever it is that parents do on their phones. He walked around, looking, but not really trying, for a restroom. He looked out a window at one point to see the Roche kids on the playgrounds, the little girl on the monkey bars and the boy sitting on the rounded steeple of a slide. He was staring off into the distance, probably listening to the little girl sing, or muse to herself.

For a second Enjolras could swear they had eye contact, he grinned awkwardly, but was not returned with one by the boy outside, so maybe not. He felt a sudden drop in his heart, why? He did not really know, but he did not question it, just left it at that.

He had not gone out to use the restroom, as he had told his sister, but to get fresh air, for he was feeling somewhat nervous. That was incredibly unlike his normal charismatic and brave appeal, and a strange emotion for him to choke down. When he had found his mind, he strolled back to the hospital room, trying to make himself look amiable, only resulting in the scaring of a young girl who was walking through the halls.

The ceilings of the hospital are ugly, he thought, popcorn is disgusting. It looks like white mold. It really was nasty, and offsetting. Who in their right mind would have invented something as atrocious as popcorn ceilings?

Thump! His forehead coilided into someone, he grabbe the person's wrists and, using the skills he had acquired from martial arts training back when he was ten, flipped him over onto the ground. The person did not make a sound other than his body hitting the ground.

"Sign Language Kid?" The boy with brown curls nodded with a pained expression, no doubt that hurt, being flung to the ground. Enjolras kneeled down and reached out a hand. The boy took it and they stood up.

He began to sign something, but stopped midway, probably realizing Enjolras could not understand. So instead, he reached into the small backpack he had on his shoulder and retrieved a notebook and pen. He flipped through the pages and began to scribble on it.

_Sorry, I guess I scared you. _

"No, you're fine, I just reacted badly."

The boy visually chuckled, but made no noise other than wind whistling through his lungs.

_Yeah right. I'm Grantaire. _

_ "_Enjolras." he replied.

_I saw you looking at me through the window._

"Oh," he grew weary, Grantaire probably thought him a stalker now, "I wasn't looking at you, my eyes were just staring at the playground?" he asked in a sort of questioning matter, but it did not really make that much of a difference.

He showed the line that said 'yeah right' again, covering up the 'I'm Grantaire'. Then he began to write more, this is what it said:

_So, you ran over Dad?_

Enjolras grimaced, "Sorry about that, complete accident."

_Serves him right, drinking at three o'clock._ He gained another noiseless chuckle from him.

"You don't care?"

_Not my business. But when he comes home drunk, that's a different story. Don't want the creep around the house if he's like that. _Enjolras nodded sympathetically, he could see now their troubles, _I think Mom and him will get a divorce soon._

"That sucks." Enjolras noticed a bit more fury in the licks of the letters, and how much faster he began to write when it was about his father.

_Yeah, the asshole is a huge problem, we don't need a douchebag drunk running around the house freely._


	5. IV

Chapter IV

Muffins

Grantaire looked at the basket of muffins they had been given two days before, five were gone (most from the devious Diane), but there were still plenty left. It was another day of school, another day of silent thinking and busy work that will "help" you later in life. Help must be a relative term, Grantaire thought with a frown, if doing about the same exact math equation over and over again makes you smarter.

In the morning his mother and father would take their own cars to work, he and his sister, on the other hand, would be picked up by Courfeyrac to go to their school. Courfeyrac had begun to take Gavroche and Eponine to school with him for the soul fact he was getting paid by the Thenardiers (probably counterfeit). This was not really a bad thing, as we have covered the fact that Gavroche knew sign language and ASL.

Grantaire decided that before Courfeyrac was to pick him up he was going to take a shower. So, why not? He had about forty five minutes to spare. Well, forty five turned into thirty, then thirty to twenty, and soon twenty to ten. Yeah, he was one of those kids who could spend hours in a shower just thinking about life and accidentally washing their hair up to three times.

So as he threw on a shirt, the door obviously had to ring. He stepped into underwear and ran to the front door, scribbling on a piece of paper 'give me a second'. He opened the door, threw the sticky note at his friend's face and ran right back to his room without pants. He pulled on pants and slung his bag over his right shoulder, then slid sneakers on his feet and went to the front door, where Diane was waiting.

'You are slow' she signed to him.

'Whatever' he opened the door where Courfeyrac was still waiting with Gavroche, who usually insisted on going to the door too.

"Good morning, Coury and Gavy!" Diane said brightly. Why she insisted on nicknames ending with 'e's was beyond anyone, but she was happy. Gavroche looked at her disapprovingly as they walked down to the minivan Courfeyrac's mother had so graciously blessed upon him. Grantaire hopped into the passenger's seat while the two younger kids sat in the far back, Eponine rested in the middle.

The car ride was not awkward, but silent. They passed their normal route, which I will not cover as it does not affect the plot in anyway. All you have to know is that they safely made it to school, successfully not killing anyone.

...

Science, oh how science was a bore, and the period that just had to start off his Mondays. That is, before Grantaire had noticed Enjolras was in it. In the period I just mentioned, he was mostly alone, other than a small red headed girl who dropped out of school. She knew sign language, so they talked to each other, she was nice, a bit strange, but nice. She does not affect the plot either.

What does affect the plot, however, is how annoying and over compulsive of a teacher they had. Students groaned when they heard his name, screamed hallelujah when they had a substitute. His name was Mr. Emile, "I know it looks like Emily, but I am making it clear that it is 'Em-meal' Emile" he would often say. No one even called him Mr. Emile, they called him by his weird ass first name, Javert. Rumor had it he got a student expelled for forgetting homework three days in a row. Everyone who took his class either failed, or barely missed that. Unless, no hear me out it was only one thing that could change his mind, if you knew him outside of school. Only one kid could do that and he graduated five years before Grantaire. It really was hopeless, he knew, but he was not in the mood ever to give up and face disappointment.

Now that we have somewhat covered Javert, you can assume the student's opinions on him: strict, rageful, and pinch nosed. These are all somewhat correct, a few flaws in these kid's minds, but mostly correct.

"Phone up here, now." the teacher said suddenly after the mass sat in their seats. They looked up to the tall teacher, who was pointing at a large brunette girl. She frowned and brought it up (little did he know she had two phones, one a decoy for giving to teachers, one to actually use). Grantaire pulled out his science book and the folder that contained his paperwork for his science fair project. Which, the reader might note, the student body was promised to not to have to do said project, until Javert stuck his head up and said that he would run it that year, only causing more hatred for the man.

Grantaire wrinkled his nose in distaste when he opened it to find he had lost his guide packet. This was probably not the best way to start out a period with the most snot nosed teacher in the school. 'Why do bad things always happen to good people?!111?!' was probably a line that ran through Grantaire's mind, like the teenager he was.

"I hope that today we will A) have no more incidents such as that and B) be able to get through more of your projects, if we can. I plan to get through another chapter today as well, so if everyone could open their books to where we ended off. Can I get a page number?"

"476." someone perked up, he nodded and wrote it on the whiteboard.

Grantaire flipped through the pages in his biology book, found it. They were in a chapter about invertebrates. The class was told to read that and take notes, do the questions at the end, and then get to work. That was the basics of Javert's, a.k.a Mr. Emile's, classes, busy work. There was no real reason for it, but yet they had to do it. It was mostly tedious and boring.

The only thing that kept Grantaire's head up, as silly and petty it seemed, was Enjolras. It was the strange eye contact that he kept making with the boy whose eyes were stupidly perfect. He felt like a fourteen year old girl who had a crush, the strange butterflies in his stomach and his head pulsing from behind. He felt quite weird too, but he was not about to deny his obvious attraction to Enjolras. Though, he tried to not make it too obvious, for he knew that not everyone would be totally okay with him liking the other, so he tried to be discreet. Only if it was not like that, if everyone was all, 'Ew, you're gay? You were so sweet, but ugh.' and more, 'I actually don't care whether you like dicks or vaginas'. In his dreams, maybe, but probably not in 2013 mid western America. Maybe if he could convince people that in Quebec, where his family comes from, they have different ways of marriage. And he could fake that it was perfectly normal, and no one fussed about it. He assumed that most would believe that though, sadly enough.

He studied the book on the black table in front of him, something about jellyfish or whatnot. He did not care, and never really did care anyways, science was a bore. Plus, what would it matter? When he was dead no one would reminisce him by saying 'He was a good child, very amazing... but he never could remember how jellyfish reproduce.'. To be simple, and quote an amazing band 'it's all dust in the wind'. He believed that was all too true, but he would never lash out at someone saying that it would not matter later. Here was his reasoning, it really did not matter, but even if that was true, he believed that was not a valid excuse to hurt a person. That would be rude.

What do jellyfish have do with the end of the world?That's up to you to decide, but let us get back to the class.

The class was at an awkward silence, one that made Grantaire sigh in frustration. So he smacked his head on the desk, a little too hard for his skull. This was, of course, and accident, he meant to hit his head, yes, but not in that painful of a manner. A ripple of giggles washed over the class. The girl next to him nudged his side with her elbow; he winced. He looked over to the side where Enjolras sat, he was greeted with a confused frown.

'You okay?' He read his lips. Grantaire nodded as a reply.

"Mr. Roche, is everything alright?" Also, I forgot to mention that Javert was the type of teacher that remembers your first, last, and middle name, but chooses to call you by your last.

He gave a thumbs up and a sarcastic smile. Javert huffed and went to the desk in the back of the room. Normally, disruption of that matter would not go unpunished, but all the teachers were told to go easy on poor little Grantaire.

That was one of the things that infuriated him to no end, the little note new teachers would get about 'goin' easy on the little mute'. He was human, right? Just like everyone else! So why should they do that to him? At first, it was nice being privileged, people even envy you. But then you realize something, you are being caged. And I am sure you know by now that Grantaire hated being a bird locked in silver gates.

He looked at his textbook, then to his notebook. His joints ached in boredom, he wanted to draw. So he picked up a pen and started doodling. What started as a little sketch of a winged man turned into a full page drawing with different colored ink, how easy it was to get distracted. He admired his work, the feathers on the wings looking gorgeous. For the longest while he had been obsessed about drawing wings. All sorts of them, for birds, angels, demons, faeries, all wings were fun to draw. But wings on humans was a sort of dream for him. Just the idea of these large golden sets of feathers perched on his back as an extra set of limbs made him happy.

On the note of wings, one might take notice of his love for fairy tales. Ever since he was young he adored the stories of brave heroes who fought large villains. It was that and superheroes, because what is a super hero other than a modern fairy tale?

"That's a very nice picture, you in art?" He looked to his left shoulder where a girl stood. He nodded and she whistled before walking to Javert, must had had a question.

Grantaire looked to the clock hanging above the brown door that Javert always kept closed. The class seemed to be dragging out and stretching time. What seemed like thirty minute had only been ten. Opposite if the saying, sadly, time flies when you are having fun.

"I think I have allotted you the correct amount of time needed to read." Javert spoke loudly. The class groaned. "Now as you all know the end of the quarter is approaching." another groan. He inwardly sighed and whispered, "I am going to fail all of you." before walking to his desk to type on Word.

His computer was hooked up to a projector, making it the most convenient way to clearly write things on the board. Most of the class talked as he typed, some texted, but Grantaire focused on the words flashing to the screen. Javert was a typer that never really learned how to keep both hands on the keyboard at the same time, so he just used three fingers from each. This resulted in slow progress.

Pro...ject...[backspaces] animal project. Three...par...tners. Due next Monday. Must be extinct...I will let you choose partners, but I CAN and WILL take that...privilege away if you misbehave. (Note the uses of periods is pausing)

Another groan of the class, causing more frustration in the teacher.

"EXCUSE ME SIR!" a voice called out, "DO WE GET TO PICK PARTNERS?"

"What do you think?" He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"No? You don't usually allow-"

"Read the board Ms. Jones."

"Oh my God! Yay!"

"Would everyone please stand up, quietly, and find two people to pair with? Remember the keyword, quietly." The class stood up and people were buzzing all over. Grantaire tensed up as about four girls rushed past him. Who to pair up with? If he waited long enough, he would be able to join any group, even if they had three people already. The only problem was that no one he really liked was here, only Enjolras, and Enjolras probably would not want to be bothered.

Grantaire sat back down in his seat, waiting for nothing. Worst comes to worst, he could just do it by himself. It was just a report on an extinct animal, how hard could it be? In groups, what would there be to other than one put it together and the other two research? It would be simple.

"You want to join us? We only have two." Grantaire heard from behind him as he was about to search through his book for long lost animals. He slowly turned around to see Enjolras and his friend, which the reader would recognize as Kyle.

He shrugged, then nodded. He stood up and walked with them over to the table they sat at. It was not until he was sitting down, looking directly into Enjolras's eyes, did he realize just how incredibly fucking nervous he was. He blinked and Grantaire's eyes widened with shock.

"You okay?" The other boy asked, he got a nod in response. Grantaire made an okay sign with his hand, along with a weak smile.

Grantaire ran back to his desk and grabbed his notebook and a pen, then returned to the black table. He gave a thumbs up to the boys, Enjolras nodded.

The next few minutes were not exactly per say, awkward, but a little too quiet. It was probably due to the fact that Enjolras and Kyle did not know how to directly communicate with Grantaire, which might have made some troubles arise.

The eventually decided upon the wooly mammoth as their subject. Fairly easy to research, and they were 'hella large mofos' as kyle would like to describe it, which, Grantaire supposed, was a good thing. So, for the rest of that period, they chatted (or wrote), and barely did any research. Enjolras looked upset about how they would either have to get together during study hall or after school to work on it, or do it by themselves. The group decided upon splitting up to do work on their own.

Grantaire, being the artistic one, had to create the board and bring paper to make what they were printing stand out. Kyle got to pick out pictures of the creatures, and Enjolras wanted to finish typing. He said that "It's not like you two couldn't do it, it's just that I feel I would be better at writing". Grantaire noiselessly scoffed at that remark.

_Sorry for not updating much, I had a writer's block. That's not much of an excuse as I should have some sort of outline of where this story is going. To tell the truth, I don't. The reason is this was originally going to be like a five page story, but then there was way too many characters, way to many things to elaborate on, and I figured I now have a whole summer to make this shit, so why the hell not?_

_p.s. the annoying 'Ms. Jones' girl may or may not be from Hetalia_

_p.p.s. I will not be updating this week, instead I am going back to rewrite/edit/rework the first chapters of this. So something good is coming out of no writing. Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it so far. _


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